I decided I was overdue for a haircut, so sauntered over Kilroy's. One of the few places I can walk to around here - at least this time of the year.
My barber - Ann - was finishing up with an elderly gentleman's haircut.
After I parked my ass in her chair she revealed he is the worst customer - complaining about everything from the windows to the chair to the temperature.
I said "I guess he is just a crotchety old man." The three other barbers all cracked up. Apparently when he come in the door they all slow down hoping to not have him in their chair.
A 2.5 Navy haircut and out the door. I remember when haircuts were two bucks on base. They were never haircuts to write home about, but they got the job done. Now $18 (including tip).
Another friend from my early service days hit me up on Faceplant. I haven't heard from him in years. Another friend is getting married in 'Vegas in December, and I congratulated him. Then someone's wife saw it and called someone else and the next thing I know I hear the dunk-dunk of a message coming in through Facebook.
The connection remains, even after thirty years. He was my boss for a while. I shot forward when I went to flight school. We kept up for a while via snail mail. But the transitory life of the military makes holding onto relationships hard.
Especially in the days before the interwebs.
I am trying to organize my thoughts on my memoirs project.
Memories are frangible and flexible and don't always fit into boxes. So the idea of 0-1, 1-2, 2-3 and so on won't work. Remembering my first instance of synesthesia, smelling a shade of purple when I was two is going to launch me into my teens. Hard to logically tie it all back together.
I wish I had that writer gene instead of the I wish I were a writer gene.
Something to work on.
Mikey is on the right.
This is just gratuitous, in case Nunzio is still around. The golden ratio.
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